


Unravel

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunken sex, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hop has an unexpected hotel room visitor at 4:30am.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Hop
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	Unravel

**Author's Note:**

> hello. i really could not stop thinking about this scenario, so i wrote it. i hope you enjoy it. my personal headcanon is hop is about 15-16. leon is about 25.
> 
> !!please note hop is the top in this fic.!!

It wakes him. It rouses him from sleep with a sudden shock, a shake that makes him jump from his bed, and instead of the residual drowsiness that usually ensues in situations like these, he finds himself suddenly fully, clearly awake. At first, when the source of whatever woke him seems to have disappated, he begins to question if what woke him was even real to begin with. However, within moments there is a knock on his hotel door, or more like another, fainter slamming sound, and Hop is not entirely sure who or what he is expecting it to be as he untangles himself from the sheets. 

Somehow, something in the core of him itches, a faint warning signal around the center of his sternum. He cannot place it, what exactly unnerves him, and it’s once he hears the faint snuffing and rumbling outside, and shadows flickering on the carpet, he has an intense sense of intuition. Ah, that sound, that familiar exhale and grunt and the sound like a kettle releasing a hiss of hot steam. He can nearly hear the crackle of a flame, if he concentrates hard enough, and once it slams again against the door hard enough to shake the screws holding the deadbolt in place, he reaches up to undo the latch.

Charizard swings into the room, narrowly missing a decorative vase on a table in the entraceway, a very inebriated, very sleepy looking Lee firmly hanging onto its neck for support. 

“Hop,” Lee mutters, and he grabs the wall in a futile attempt to keep himself upright, just narrowly missing crashing into the table and the same vase. “M’ a little drunk, sorry.”

Charizard, looking both irritated and satisfied, swings the door closed with a sweep of its massive tail, sends a firm grunt in Lee’s general direction, and disappears back into the ball on his hip. Lee barely blinks, mutters a quiet, “thanks”, and tries to steady himself enough to walk a few more steps past the hallway and into the actual hotel room.

It is four-thirty in the morning.

“Lee,” he says, “what’re you doing here?”

“I asked Charizard,” he says, his voice slurring lazily, “I wanted t’ see you. Missed you.”

Missed you. From the brother who, more often than not, seems to be concerned with having too fast-paced a life to give himself actual space to miss him.

He swallows thickly, and that itching feeling in his ribs persists. Back down he pushes it, down, down.

It’s not that he doesn’t know that feeling, no, but that he knows it exactly, and he wants nothing more than to pretend he doesn’t know it, that he’s never known. 

“You should sleep, Lee,” he says carefully, gesturing towards the small hotel couch pushed against the far window. “I’mma go back to bed.”

“Right,” Lee says, “right, the ceremony…tomorrow, handing in my cape. Right. Your girlfriend.”

He stumbles towards the couch, and nearly misses but manages to land himself askew across the bed instead, which might be big enough for two people of a smaller size, but isn’t built to hold both of them.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he says. “She’s my friend, Lee. My best friend.” Lee rolls over on the mattress so his hat flops off his head and onto the floor, caught between the bed and the wall. “You’re a mess.” He tugs at the cape, which is trapped under Lee’s strong, heavy body. It barely budges an inch. “At least take this off before you sleep.”

“She’s good, Hop,” Lee continues on, as though he hasn’t listened to a single thing, as though he’s having this conversation with some other version of Hop in his head who’s answering other things, who’s actually humoring his questions. “Don’ worry, she’ll like you. You’re built like me. We’re brothers, right?”

“I’m not—“

“Like me,” Lee laughs. “You’re thick too, right? Down there. They like that. Girls.”

It’s a moment before he realizes where Lee is looking, with him standing and Lee laying on the bed, his face turned, level with the center of his sleep shorts. There’s a squirming, squeaming discomfort in the pit of his stomach, something rising in his throat, boiling hot but also threading through his veins, ice-cold.

His ribs itch so badly it’s unbearable. 

“Stop making stupid jokes and sleep,” he says, knocking away Lee’s hand as it comes up, and it lands on his thigh. He swallows hard, pushes it back down and lays it firmly across Lee’s chest. “Sleep.”

Lee laughs, brings his hand back up, slides it against the curve of Hop’s waist. “Here though,” he says, and he turns, sliding both hands up the sides of Hop’s torso, “you’re not like me. Not at all. You’re so skinny.”

It burns. The feeling of Lee’s hands against the sides of his stomach give him a deep, searing shiver that runs through all of his bones. He pushes Lee away before he can ponder too much why it brings about such a feeling in him, a source of discomfort that has nothing to do repulsion and everything to do with restriction. 

The only part of his life, maybe, that he can’t be honest in, because he knows what that would bring.

Lee’s thumbs rub at the curve of his ribs, and he forcibly pulls them from his body, pushes them back down once again.

“Lee,” he says again, firmly, “sleep.”

Lee fights him, as though this is some sort of childish game, trying to slip his hands under Hop’s thin t-shirt, pinching at the curves of his thin torso, laughing. He fights him the whole way, trying to catch Lee by the palm, or the wrist, until finally he has both wrists firmly in his grasp. Lee, he knows, is so much stronger than him, could so easily overpower him if he tried, and he tries not to think about what would happen if Lee did that right now, if Lee pushed back, pushed him against the wall, or the floor, sliding those hot hands up under his shirt, over the notches of his spine.

Instead, Lee lets him win, and he pushes both hands down against the mattress. Lee lets out a drunken laugh again, slides his hands down from the firm lock Hop’s got around his wrists. His long, slim fingers slip against the palm of Lee’s right hand, where he’s still got his glove tightly fastened. They slide smoothly against Lee’s palm, two of them slipping up and under the fabric, just enough to loosen the snap at the wrist with the force.

A snap undone, and something else undoes itself inside him with a second snapping sound, his own unraveling.

He shivers.

It feels like a violation, to touch that skin nobody else ever touches, and Lee’s fingers come down on his, tangle their hand together, and before he knows it Lee is pulling him down onto the bed ontop of him and their lips and are meeting. Lee kisses hot and deep and wet, sloppy and it tastes like lumberry juice and whiskey.

Fear grips him, takes an icy hold on his heart, not because he wants this to stop but because he wants this to go forever. Any moment now Lee is going to remember, even in his drunk fog, that this isn’t right, this can’t ever be right, and it’s going to stop and Lee will pull further away than he ever has been, so far this chance will slip even further from him.

Whatever has begun to unravel inside him takes hold now, and he pushes past his immense sense of unease, pushes through it until he finds the heart of it, nothing but _want_ in its purest form.

So badly, for so long, he has wanted to taste Lee this way, and now that he is having it, he cannot ever go back.

The only way out is through.

He presses forward, slips his free hand under Lee’s shirt to squeeze at that sensitive chest, to thumb at those nipples he knows make him squirm, not because he’s done it firsthand but because he’s read about it.

His whole childhood had been spent worshiping his hero of a brother, looking up to him unfalteringly, and it had only been a few years ago when he’d searched Lee’s name he’d had the morbid curiosity to search further, deeper.

The posts were not well-hidden, but right out in the open, stories that at first read like lies to him, falsifications to smear the image of the brother he revered. But the more he read, the deeper he dove, the more he couldn’t help but fall into the images of them. 

They were real; he knew they couldn’t be anything but.

Stories of how deep Lee could take a dick, of how if you visited the right club in Hammerlocke on certain nights and bought some beers, the Champion would be more than happy to let you strip him down and fuck him senseless.

It stirred something within him, something he’d never thought to question in that deep devotion, like it was merely a pond with murky depths unplumbed, and something in them had been awakened that could not be swallowed back down.

Now, Lee is no longer Champion. Tomorrow that cape will be turned over to another. Lee will be left to wander once more, and at this moment, has wandered his way into this bed.

He’s a good kisser, better than the stories say. Even better with the way his hips are senselessly rolling against Hop’s own, and even through Lee’s shorts and leggings he can feel how immensely hard he must be, and like Lee said down there they’re built close to the same, and he just knows it’s thick, thick and rock-hard, just like he’s imagined it.

Too many nights he’d imagined it already, restless in his tent, praying Arceus forgives young trainers who dirty their hands in such a manner.

He pulls at Lee’s shorts, but Lee pulls away for a moment, eyes suddenly lucid. “Hop,” he breathes. “Don’t. You can’t go back from that.”

Lee is still pretending not to know he already cannot go back, how something in him is already undone and can’t be remade.

Now it’s his turn, though, and where Lee had pulled him in here, now he pushes, pushes him back down and pulls down those layers of shorts and tight spandex leggings. “I don’t want to,” he breathes and he pulls down Lee’s underwear, marvels at the fact he’s finally found this before him, it’s finally his, and he won’t let it slip from him. “All of Galar’s had you, now it’s my turn.”

He watches as Lee shivers at that, swallows hard, and his gaze is heavy-lidded.

“Then have me,” he purrs, and he arches his back to help pull his bottoms all the way down to his ankles, and then reaches for Hop’s own, slides them down and takes pleasure in slowly, achingly rolling their naked hips against each other. “You really are built like me,” he murmurs. “Thick.”

There’s an ache in his voice as he says it, a way it drunkenly trembles with a wet and heavy type of lust.

He spits in his palm and forces open Lee’s thighs, plunges in two slick fingers and watches as Lee shivers, and a soft moan escapes his lips. His head spins, dizzy with the heat that flushes up the side of his neck and creeps up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Inside Lee is hot, so hot and he feels the way he squeezes down on him, a tight clench against his fingers that makes the arousal between his legs ache to the point it’s unbearable. 

Lee arches his back and he pulls his fingers from within him, holds Lee’s hips steady on either side and slides in with ease, feeling the way Lee gives way to him, the way Lee’s body opens up for him to sit neatly inside. There’s such a moan from Lee’s throat, an absolutely unholy noise, and whatever pure image of Lee had still been left in his head, whatever remanent memories he’d had of the unstained, untouched hero shatter. 

This is the Lee he has read about, the Lee he’s wanted, he’s craved for.

He finds his hips moving on their own, so quickly and things blur, he realizes Lee has already come once, at some point, on his own stomach, and he’s about to come now too. It builds in him, the way Lee squeezes down on him, wraps his thick, strong thighs around his waist to pull him deeper, deeper still, and Lee pulls him down for another kiss.

His release is fast, buried deep inside Lee, Lee’s legs holding him in there, and Lee groans, satisfied, as though he’s been craving to feel that release inside his body. They hold there, just for a moment, before he pulls out, untangling himself from Lee’s legs and the mess of everything. Lee’s eyes are already lulling shut, drunk and now sleepy in the afterglow, and Hop curls next to him in what room the mattress has to offer. 

It’s warm, this afterglow. Calm. Calmer than he’s ever felt in a long, long time. He presses one last goodnight kiss to Lee’s lips, a kiss which still tastes like lumberry juice and whiskey.

Below them both lays the Champion’s cape, now stained with white across the red.


End file.
